A Devil's Life For Me
by OneInTwain
Summary: Pirate AU oneshot - "Have you ever seen a man's whole crew and ship taken by one man, peewee?" Captain Hellman breathes, and spins his cutlass in one hand, his eyes never leaving the other ship. "No…" "Well today might be the day." Gen, except for Buccaneeruma's filthy mouth; feat. the crew of the good ish ship Devilbat vs. the privateer crew of the Seraphim. You'll see. :


**More Tumblr-inspired Eyeshield weirdness of an AU nature-this time it's from a panel of Hiruma being evil and gleeful, and a speech bubble that says "-DID I JUST HEAR A PLAN TO WARM THE COCKLES OF MY BLACK HEART?" or something of the like.**

**This is pirate-slang.  
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**It had to happen.  
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He's never liked being in the crow's nest.

Samuel 'Sam' Koberlein clings to the mast and wishes he was back down at the wheel where he can actually do the crew some good. He doesn't know why captain Hellman—no, Hillman, it's Hillman, he always gets it wrong—doesn't just put him down there steering the ship all the time, when all he does up here is close his eyes and try really hard not to get too ill. He's the one who spent his whole life going from merchant ship to merchant ship steering for them. He's the one who can make the ship zig-zag and sail at four knots with no wind and no current.

So why is he up here, settled uncomfortably under the whipping black flag—in the captain's gear no less, just because the Captain doesn't want people aiming at him first, it's not _fair_—and wondering if he'll ever catch sight of a—

…a…

"Sail," he says blankly, and then shakes himself and leans out of the edge, cupping one hand around his mouth and holding on to the mast for dear life with the other. The ridiculous hat, far too big on his head, almost tumbles off his head and he has to snatch at it before it can flutter away and be lost forever in the sea (and he doesn't even want to think about what will happen to him if that happens). "S…SAIL! Captain, a sail!"

The voice comes echoing up to him, triumphant and perfectly audible even over the sound of the waves crashing and the brisk breeze in Sam's face. "Aye? Good work, peewee! Get down here, now! Hey, little ape-face, get up there and loose the sails! I want some blasted _speed_! Oi, damned first mate!"

Sam can't hear a reply, but first mate/shipwright Taggart must have reported for orders because a few seconds later a piercing whistle goes out over the deck and there's the sound of feet thudding on wood, audible even up on the swaying crow's nest.

…most of the thudding, as usual, is coming from Quartermaster Creta; he partakes of his own cooking a little too much, as much as Sam appreciates the hearty Italian food that so often appears in the mess. Captain Hellman has complained, more than once and very loudly, that most of the weight in their hold is the stockpile of food needed to satisfy the 'Damned Ballast-ass's' appetite. He squeezes out of the below-deck quarters with enormous difficulty and comes thudding across the deck as Sam scrambles out of the crow's nest and shrieks and panics his way down the ropes at speed, heading straight for the wheel.

They've done this before, after all; they know where they have to be.

"_Man the cannons_!" The first mate roars—Sam has heard he's only a few years older than most of the crew, and most of the crew is just reaching for their mid-teens, so how he manages to bellow like a grown man is beyond speculation. Fortunately, he doesn't yell very often. He leaves that up to the captain. "Helmsman!"

"Yes!" Sam squeaks, and ducks forward, barely avoiding the three pressed men the captain picked up at the last port—the big scary blond one with the scar growls at him and he takes off running again, almost tripping over the tailored, too-big coat as he rushes up to the wheel and executes a hasty salute. "Sir!"

"Take the wheel," says first mate Taggart grimly, his eyes never leaving the distant speck of the approaching ship, and he strides down the steps and towards the gunner crew.

"Never get tired of seeing you all decked out and fancied up, peewee," the Captain cackles, and pulls the hat off of Sam's head, wedging it firmly onto his own—over top of his bandanna, but still barely controlling the wild, spiked mess of his hair. "Got it jotted down in the little black log the very first time, but still…never gets old."

Sam hates Captain's Little Black Logbook, but he doesn't have time to despair of ever getting his (comparatively) peaceful life back because he gets his hands on the wheel just then and abruptly forgets everything but the way the waves are running. A flick of the wrist and he's following the glowing path across the waves, sending the ship rocketing towards its target, set to rake her broadside with both decks of guns.

"It's privateers, Captain!" Howls down Monty's voice over the sounds of pounding feet and yelling voices (he's long since stopped telling them that his name isn't actually Monty and anyway Captain Hellman has decided that 'Montague' is too long of a surname to yell). "They're flying Italian colors, sir, and a pirate flag! Looks like…" a moment of silence and far up against the turbulent clouds Sam sees the glint of Monty's spyglass. "…a flaming cross, captain!"

The Captain cackles again, but this time there's something about it that makes a shiver run up Sam's spine, because when Captain Hellman laughs like that he doesn't really think it's funny at all.

"Thrice-damned Catholic lap-dogs," he growls to himself, and then he jumps up on the railing and draws his cutlass and his firework-launching-hand-made-one-of-a-kind-miniature-siege-weapon in one sweeping gesture. Sam ducks a little on instinct, because once you've seen what that simple little tube and a couple of Chinese fireworks can do to a stronghold you don't get in front of that little tube ever again. But the ship is coming closer, _fast_, and he has to watch the water and the wheel as the crew stops at their cannons, looking up at the figure of their captain silhouetted against the blood-red canvas of the sails.

"Alright my lucky lads, this is it!" screams the Captain, and Sam sees the men on the privateer ship running to their own stations. They're close enough he can pick out faces now; the huge, scarred man at the helm, a boy with wild spikes of jet-black hair running across the masts like he's on a flat road and jumping from one swinging spar to the next, sighting down a deadly-looking crossbow. The ship dips in the waves and there's a tall man with a coat like a sailor but a shaved head like a monk, barking orders across the deck and loading rifle with practiced hands. "—you take this ship and you can go to the grave tellin' your brats you took his most Catholic majesty's _Seraphim_! They've been sitting easy for nine damned years and plundering swag that should've been in our hold and wouldn't it just warm the black cockles of your Captain's dear damned heart to know his _Devilbat_ and her crew broke them their winning streak?"

A hearty "_AYE!"_ from the crew—quartermaster Creta looks nervous but first mate Taggart lays a silent hand on his shoulder and he squares his broad, round shoulders as far as they'll square and glares nervously as the ships drift closer and a dark figure jumps up onto the railing of the _Seraphim_, standing fearlessly on the rail without so much as a hand on the ropes to steady it.

"Captain, wh-who's that?" Sam murmurs, and the Captain doesn't look away as the man on the rail looks straight at him, beads, feathers and thick dreadlocks whipping across his face as he catches most of them in a casual hand and knots a red scarf around them one-handed. And then he raises a hand and crooks his fingers. _Come on._

"Captain?" Sam repeats, and Hellman seems to notice him for the first time—he turns his head a fraction to the side, cocking his ear in Sam's direction. "Captain…d-do you know him?"

"Have you ever seen a man's whole crew and ship taken by one man, peewee?" Hellman breathes, and spins his cutlass in one hand, his eyes never leaving the other ship.

"No…"

"Well today might be the day," says Captain Hellman, and he raises his voice to scream across the water.

"_FIRE ALL!"_

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**Y'know how the detective one wasn't completely ripped off of Sherlock Holmes at all? Well this one isn't walking all over Pirates of the Caribbean's feet _at all_. :I No, for reals!  
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**Kurita and the Naga are affiliated with Italy and Catholicism because the name me and my sister found for Kurita was Italian (conveniently, since they're so famous for their profuse amounts of fattening food) and they have a church that can parallel Buddhism in the original. Thus Kurita (who's father runs a Buddhist temple) and the Nagas (or the 'Seraphim' here, because those are a kind of six-winged angel that is always on fire and is sometimes associated with flaming serpents) are, obviously, kind of a little bit Buddhist.  
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**Musashi is 'Taggart' because his real name is 'Takekura' and his nickname is a bitch to find an equivalent for. I wanted him to be Spanish, but I hear you can't always get what you want.  
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**The crew of the Seraphim isn't really all that Catholic, they're just privateers, which is why the names they secretly have (Aaron and Uzi, respectively-those are legit names, we made sure!) have such non-Italian names and why they're out pirating instead of doing churchy things.  
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**There, those are the necessary facts. :D **

**Feedback, thoughts?  
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End file.
